I’m spinning around on a carousel at the park, like the windmills on the cover of mackenzie’s album, field. I’m dizzy from spinning, and the nausea matches the warm, swirling tones heard across the album. Blood pumps through my skull in sync with the kick drum, and I feel lightweight again. I’m certain that I’ll fall if I stand, but I’m not afraid to walk; the grass will soften my fall. I stumble and collapse underneath a cloudy, blue sky… smiling. Smiling because it’s alright—the destruction of society, technology slowly overwhelming mankind, the powerful capitalizing on suffering of the majority—all so long as I continue spinning, losing my basic faculties over a field of soft grass. After all, what good is it to run towards (or away from) something when you’re just running in a circle?